


The Silence in the Darkness (Fills the Empty Spaces)

by turnonmyheels



Series: Empty Spaces [3]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/pseuds/turnonmyheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately post 4.08 Family Recipe.   Picks up with Chibs and Juice under the tree answers the question, what happens next</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence in the Darkness (Fills the Empty Spaces)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Moosesal for the beta. Also, if Gemma hadn’t asked Clay if he missed that close and personal bond he had with Juice’s mouth while they were inside, you probably would have been spared the Juice/Clay and possibly gotten something way better like Juice/Jax or Juice/Tig.

His stomach flips then rolls as Juice backs away only to huddle on the ground. He stands stock still, utterly unable to move while Juice’s eyes, shiny with unshed tears in the moonlight, plead with him to do something, _anything_. Chibs has done and seen more fucked-up shit in this world than Juice could ever dream up, even now after eighteen months in Stockton. His stomach settles back into place, and as the first choked-off sob comes from his brother it’s as if ice water is running through his veins. Chibs crosses the small clearing, stepping over the chain and the limb it’s wrapped around. He stands over Juice for a moment and it’s like an out-of-body experience, he’s completely cut off and detached from his emotions.

A cloud passes overhead clearing the sky and moonlight streams down through the tree canopy. It’s hard to imagine how Chibs could have ever believed that the bruising on Juice’s throat could have come from a wire. Juice sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Chibs grabs him under his arms and hauls him to his feet. He stumbles once he’s upright, lurching this way then that before he finally sags against Chibs, arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Get off me, lad.” Chibs pushes him away, but not too far. He keeps hold of Juice by the arm and frog marches him toward the bikes. No way in hell is Chibs gonna let a suicidal brother ride solo. He grabs Juice’s skull bucket from his handlebar and tosses it to him. Chibs puts on his own bucket and straddles his bike. He kicks off the stand and cranks the engine. As it roars to life he twists the throttle, revving the engine. Chibs relaxes a bit into its comforting vibration, feels his blood thaw a little at the familiar rumbling warmth from the engine. “Get on.” He jerks his head back and stares at Juice through slitted eyes until he finally settles behind him.

Chibs revs the engine a bit more then he pushes off. Gravel and dirt spray in their wake and Chibs decides to take the long way back to Charming. It’ll give him some time to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do about Juice.

~*~

Juice is shit-scared and so far past knowing what the right thing is that if you told him fire was cold and ice was hot, he’d believe. The mark of shame on his throat hurts; it’s an aching, dull throb that will not go away. He deserves it though. That and so much more. Chibs roars past Teller-Morrow and Juice doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Chibs takes the next ninety-degree turn at about sixty miles per hour and Juice’s arms automatically wrap around him as they both lean into the turn. This, right here, riding bitch behind his brother, is the sanest he’s felt since they got outta Stockton and the new Sheriff decided to make Juice’s acquaintance.

Juice bends his neck, rests his helmet-covered forehead against the leather between Chibs’ shoulders. The night air is cool; he’s glad he’s wearing his cut, even if the weight of it is pulling him under. He looks at his patch, the white surrounding _Men of Mayhem_ above his heart glows beneath the streetlights, distorting the image of the words and giving them an almost 3-D appearance. It’s true that he’s done fucked-up shit for his Club, but he knew that was the deal when he got in. He traded his future for the promise of home and a family, and he did it willingly, knowing from the very beginning that if they ever found out about his dad he was fucked. And now this. Being half-black is nothing compared to turning rat.

They pass the turnoff to Juice’s road and then the one to his pot shop. Chibs hits the throttle again and they must be going eighty up the steep hill that leads to Chibs’ place. Something deep inside Juice eases, just a little. Tomorrow, Chibs will probably tell everyone what he’s done, but he has at least the night to get his head together, find some sort of peace with himself.

If he’s lucky, someone will put a bullet between his eyes. Then they’ll bury him beside Miles. Maybe they’ll even dig Miles up and give him a proper send-off -- after hours at the crematorium -- and dump Juice in his grave. They pull up to Chibs’ house. Chibs parks the bike and turns off the engine. Juice gets off first, helmet off and on the bitch seat as soon as his feet hit the ground. His hands are shoved down deep in his pockets, eyes on the dirt drive. He’s got no idea what happens next.

“Get inside, lad.” Chibs is still sitting astride the bike, unbuckling his helmet. “Pour us a drink. I’ll be in in a minute.”

Relief at knowing what comes next floods through him. Juice does as he’s told.

~*~

They’re halfway through a fifth of Bushmills. Chibs’ cut is off, slung across the back of the chair he’s sitting in as he faces Juice across the kitchen table. The only light on in the house is a bare bulb with a pull chain hanging down in the center of the room. It’s late. The only sound outside is a dog barking somewhere in the neighborhood. Inside, the stillness is broken by the clink of glass on glass as Chibs pours another shot then the low thud of the bottle and empty shot glasses hitting the table. The metallic scrape of Juice’s lighter flares to life, the flame casting shadows over his face. The long breath sounds of two men smoking; cigarettes and pot. The air is heavy with smoke hovering just above their heads.

“You’ve been different since you got out,” Chibs finally says, breaking the long silence. Juice shrugs and hits the joint. “It’s tough making the change from inside to out, I remember.”

Juice looks up at him, the same deer-caught-in-headlights expression he had underneath that fucking tree. It’s a sucker punch to Chibs’ gut.

“Things are different in prison. Harder and easier. Only now that you’re out again, what was easy inside vanishes like that.” Chibs snaps his fingers and throws back another shot. “Now it’s all upside down. Again.” Chibs kicks both feet up on the table and leans his chair back on two legs. “You need some help with that, lad?” He holds out his hand and takes the joint from Juice. He hits it hard, needing the buffer of cloudy thinking, lowered inhibitions, and animal instinct it leaves behind.

“I--” Juice coughs, shoulders heaving with the force. When it passes he grabs a couple beers from the fridge. He pops them both open with his lighter, takes a healthy swig from one to soothe his throat and hands the other to Chibs, sits back down. “I need...” Juice trails off and gives Chibs a helpless look.

Chibs keeps the joint; if the lad wants more he can roll another. “What?” He exhales the sweet smoke through his nose, flicks the ashes in the general direction of the over-flowing ashtray on the burn-scarred table. Hits it again before Juice does anything more than look at his feet.

Chibs is patient, knows how to bide his time from his own stint inside and a lifetime of waiting for his old lady and daughter to get free and come to him. Will spend the rest of his life doing exactly that. Juice looks up at him for a second, then his eyes dart around the room before coming back to Chibs, then lightning fast back down to the floor.

This lad. This goddamn lad, he’s killing Chibs. So lost and afraid and trapped inside his head, too scared to ask for help or just plain doesn’t know how. “Juicy-boy, can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Juice stands so suddenly his chair turns over. The noise is loud and out of place in the quiet house. Chibs swigs his beer and watches as Juice paces the tiny kitchen. Four steps to the wall, turn, and four steps back again. The lad’s obviously working himself up to something so Chibs keeps quiet, savoring the smoke and the booze. Juice sets the chair back up on its legs and turns it around. He straddles it facing Chibs, close enough that Chibs has to set all four legs of his chair on the floor. Their knees knock together as Chibs leans forward and wraps his hand around the back of Juice’s neck. He pulls Juice close enough that their foreheads touch, rests there a minute, then pushes him back again.

“Talk to me, Juice.”

“Shit!” Juice jitters in the chair, scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s like I’m coming out of my skin. I don’t know what to do. And everything is so fucked up.”

Chibs nods in understanding. “Aye.”

“I feel like I’m lost and can’t find my way back.” Juice pilfers his pockets until he comes up with a mostly empty cigarette pack. He fishes out a hand-rolled joint and two cigarettes. Puts all three in his mouth and lights them at once. He hands one of the smokes to Chibs and keeps the others for himself. “I can’t get my head on straight. And the new Sheriff.” He shakes his head and passes the joint to Chibs. “Never thought I’d miss Hale,” Juice finally says and blows out a huge cloud of smoke.

“You’re not lost.” Chibs points the joint at Juice to punctuate his sentence. “You’re right here, in Charming, with your club. We’re where you turn. I’m who you come to.” He hits it and hands it back. “If you want your head on straight, quit smoking so much of that shit.”

Juice shakes his head and Chibs thinks he knows what the lad won’t say. “You were in with Clay, yeah?” Juice nods. “Miss that? Together all the time knowing you had each other’s back, yeah?” Chibs sets down his beer and pours another finger, knocks most of it back quick. “Can’t have that now that you’re outside, can you?” Swallows the rest. “Against all the rules, and then there’s Gemma.”

Juice looks away and Chibs reaches out, grabs him by the chin forcing the lad to look at him. “Nothing wrong with missing it, you just got to move on now.” He gives Juice’s face a friendly slap and leans back in his seat. “Find you some pussy.”

Juice makes a sound Chibs can’t translate. He’s bent over in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands on his face, head shaking side to side. “S’not it.”

“Ah.” Chibs puts one foot up on the table and keeps the other one on the floor, rocks the chair back on two legs again. “Get a taste for it did you?” Another broken sound from Juice and Chibs finally feels like the ground is underneath his feet again. Lad got a taste for cock, right and proper in the joint, now he’s shit scared someone -- god knows who -- will find out. “Boy-o, our Tigger fucks corpses, you can’t think a little cock sucking and arse fucking’s gonna be a problem?”

Juice’s jerks one shoulder up but keeps his hands on his face.

Fucking Americans and their bullshit hang-ups. “Nothing wrong with it.”

Juice says something, but Chibs can’t make it out. Stubs out his cigarette and asks, “What?”

Juice finally drops his hands and looks up at him. “You ever do it?”

“Course I have. Been in the army, ain’t I? And prison. Done it more’n few times outside of that too.” The joint has gone out. Chibs takes it from Juice and relights it. Hits it hard, holds it in until he has to cough it all out. Passes it over to Juice while he soothes his throat with beer.

This time when Juice looks at him he looks less like a wounded animal in a trap and more like the brother Chibs knows. Juice needs to get that neck looked at; Chibs knows he won’t though, too much shame. So he gets up and finds a bag of frozen peas in the freezer, slaps it down on Juice’s neck as he walks past him, and returns to his seat.

~*~

Juice yelps when something cold hits his neck, relieved to find it’s a frozen pack of peas. The cold sinks into his bruised skin, eases some of the constant throbbing. He’s even less sure what to do with himself now Chibs thinks he turned fag.

Better to think he turned fag than to know he turned rat. So Juice plays it up. He isn’t surprised to learn about Chibs. He suspects everyone who’s been inside has done it some way or another. Juice is glad he went in with brothers instead of by himself, doesn’t envy Opie his time. Knows Opie would have had it easier than him anyway, being nearly twice Juice’s size and not nearly as pretty with all the hair and beard and tatts.

“It’s late.” Chibs crushes out his cigarette and drains his beer. “Goin’ to bed.” And he’s gone, leaving Juice alone in the kitchen with the remains of the whisky and beer and a nearly empty pack of cigarettes. Juice knows he’s trapped until morning unless he wants to walk home. He doesn’t. The toilet flushes and lights flick on and off down the hall. He knows by the sounds that Chibs is in bed.

Juice has no idea what happens next and can’t stand the free-fall feeling he’s been carrying around. He does know that some of what Chibs said was true. When he was inside at night, when the lights were out and Clay was halfway down his throat, fingers tracing Juice’s mouth as it stretched around his dick, everything was easier. Simpler.

He knew when to get up. He ate what they put in front of him. He stayed with his brothers in the yard and the mess, and did what Clay told him in the dark of the night. Juice yearns for that kind of simplicity and clarity, would kill for it given the opportunity. Hears a bed squeak and knows it’s there for the taking if only he has the balls to do it.

~*~

Chibs is naked under the sheets, ears straining for sounds of Juice moving in the house. What happens now is up to him; Chibs did what he could for his brother. He can’t live his life for him, can’t force him into being who he was before he went in. He would if he could, but Chibs isn’t wired that way, doesn’t really want to be. He prefers to take people as he finds them or not at all. He stays quiet as he hears Juice coming down the hall. Lies still as he hears clothes hit the floor of his bedroom; waits a beat, then more, finally says, “Well, get in if you’re gonna.”

Sighs as the bed shifts under the weight of another body, rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling he can’t see in the dark. When a hand finds its way onto his chest he grunts, grabs Juice by the wrist and drags his hand down, places it on his mostly soft dick. The hand opens and wraps around him, tugging him swiftly to hardness. “Whatever you need, brother.”

Chibs has always thought the saying, “in the dark all mouths are the same” was bullshit. Has had a hundred blowjobs from as many again different partners and no two mouths are the same. No two women, no two men. From the heat of the mouth to the tightness of the suction to the ridges on the roof of the mouth that he loves to slide the head of his dick over, they’re all uniquely individual and completely perfect.

The fact that the mouth currently wrapped around him, swallowing him down like a pro is one of his brothers’ doesn’t matter to him at all. He’d rather fuck a brother, Juice’s pretty mouth in particular, than anyone else in this world barring Fiona. Only thing he misses is some hair to bury his hands in. Instead he places them on Juice’s bald head and guides him into the rhythm he likes best. Fast to the base, slow to the head. All the way down, swallow around, and tease with the tongue at the top.

“Just like that, lad, just like that.” He says it prison quiet and Juice responds by gently toying with his sac. Chibs closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the feeling, it’s been too goddamn long since he’s had a nice luxurious suck. He settles into it, resists the need to come for a little while before he finally gives Juice a courtesy tap on the back of his head. He shouts out a curse when Juice swallows him down anyway.

Chibs yanks Juice up by the armpits for the second time that night, rolls him over onto his side, pulls his ass against his slowly softening cock. He rocks against Juice’s bare ass and fists his cock, tight squeeze, his pace fast bordering on brutal until Juice is a puddle in his hand. Chibs wipes it on the sheet then rolls over onto his other side, gets comfortable, and drifts off to sleep.

He wakes up with Juice snugged up behind him in the morning. Wonders if it’s more than just a one-off.

Has no idea if he wants it to be or not.


End file.
